Recession - a perfect fit, Makes no difference where he sits, Not since they cut the ties, Put some sadness in his eye.
Promises - come and go, Soak the sun in drifts of snow, A qualified butt-collector, Working for the private sector.
He's seen them go, Without a trace, This could be it, The perfect place.
They took the plans from up my sleeve, By an architect, on New Years Eve, There it goes, a new bronze tower, Washed away with an April shower.
He's seen them go, Without a trace, This could be it, The perfect place.
But, when you've gone, I'm still here, the only one, My eyes and my ears, Will be here 'til I'm gone; And it's still the perfect place, To rest a tired and weary face, And it's still the perfect place, To lose your soul with a trace.
A lived-in face, with a root, of matted hair, a smiling tooth, A dirty hand, a pixies nose, Scratches underneath his clothes.
He's seen them go, Without a trace, This could be it, The perfect place. He's seen them go, Without a trace, This must be it ...Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.